MissMe said 9 years, 9 months ago:
I’m writing a little something…and I wondered what you thought of it so far. It’s a murder mystery.
In the small town of Ravenstoke, in the suburbs of England, nothing worth reading about on the news ever happened. The closest it came to having its name in the papers was three years ago, when there was suddenly a barrage of ransakings in the local shops. This, however, was quickly resolved and blamed on the very determined raccoons that had a penchant for breaking and entering. No, nothing ever happened, until November 13th, the day that Serenity Grayson was murdered.
And I found myself being the main suspect in a murder investigation.
Serenity wasn’t a girl that you could describe with words – you really had to see her to believe her – but I’ll try. In terms of personality, she was the most unique person you could hope to meet, but looks wise, she pretty much covered the typical teenage girl. Her blonde hair fell down her back in tumbling curls, both of which she insisted was natural, and her glittering hazel eyes fluttered with lashings of mascara. Artificial blush made her cheeks glow, and her lips were glossed with the most sickening pink colour that she loved so much. Her black school skirt, while not as short as some of the other girls, quite clearly wasn’t the regulation “just above the knee” length that only the year sevens adhered to, and a silver bracelet always hung loosely off of her slim wrist. As it happens, that bracelet was one of the key factors that aided in the discovery of her body. Her attacker had let it fall off and led the police straight to her body. I’d say rookie mistake, but I don’t want to mislead you in thinking I have experience, especially as I’m trying to convince you of my innocence.
If you were lucky enough that she actually spoke to you then you would know that Serenity spoke in confusing riddles 75% of the time, and her laugh would bring out a giggle in even the most serious of people. While her soft voice assured the most cautious of people, her swearing would warn off the most brass of people, and she could give just as much as she received.
It had been an ordinary day for Serenity, just another Wednesday. When she woke up in the morning, she put on her school uniform, grabbed her heavy school bag, and walked to school. Her school was a ten minute walk away – she was in year 10 of a local grammar school, Amblestone Accademy – and she wanted to be on time. As she placed her headphones in her ears and turned up the music on her phone, Serenity had no worries about the journey in front of her. In her mind, she would be fine. Everyday she completed this journey, and everyday she got to school and back again safely. No, Serenity never imagined that she would never make it to school on November 13th, but she never did.
It would be another week before we discovered what happened to her. By “we”, I mean me, and my two other friends, who also happen to be at the centre of the investigation. I’m Alice Jenkins. I was Serenity’s best friend, along with Wednesday Lockheart and Tabitha Waters. I suppose it isn’t a surprise the police think we have something to do with it. After all, we were the ones who discovered her, and my fingerprints were on her bloody bracelet.
It was the Tuesday of the next week – exactly six days after she went missing – that Serenity was found. We never imagined that we’d be finding a body. When we went out into the fields that Tuesday, we didn’t know what to expect. We had simply covered every other area in town, plastered her face over every telephone pole, stapled it to every tree big enough. Tabitha and I gathered the posters we’d made together earlier that day, and headed to the fields. We’d wait for Wednesday there, and she’d meet us armed with a stapler and whatever else she thought would come in handy. With Wednesday, it could be anything.
Unfortunately, with our luck, Wednesday brought a torch. Why she brought a torch I didn’t think to ask, at the time, but only days later it would be thrown in with other “evidence” that deemed us guilty. As we stepped into the field, we saw the one thing that brought our worlds come crashing down on top of us.
Serenity’s bracelet.
That is the one moment when I knew something was wrong. I saw it on Tabitha’s face, too, as we kneeled on the ground next to it. I was the one who picked it up. With a shaking hand, I held the bracelet in my palm. I remember clearly what I said next, because I would repeat this many times.
“It’s got mud on it.”
Another thing I would always remember would be what Wednesday said next, with a frown on her face. “I don’t think that’s mud.”
“Well, what is it th-” I started, before I realized myself. Maybe I should have dropped the bracelet then and there, when I realized I was holding the bracelet that my best friend never took off. Not only that. I was holding the bracelet my best friend never took off, and it was covered in blood. The only thing I managed to do was shake my head and cry, and curl my fingers around the bracelet tighter. “Not Serenity.”
Tabitha, the one who always knew what to say, rubbed my back comfortingly. “Come on, Ali, it’s only a bracelet.” Digging through the pocket of her jeans, she fished out a clean tissue, and took the bracelet out of my clutch, holding it warily with the tissue. I could see her struggling with the idea, holding a bracelet that potentially was covered in Serenity’s blood, but I did nothing to help. It was Wednesday who put everything into perspective. She didn’t cringe at our discovery, or break down in tears at the very first sign that something was wrong. No, Wednesday simply stuffed the tissue covered bracelet in the pocket of her jeans, and sighed deeply, clearly thinking about something.
“What is it, Wednesday?” Tabitha asked wearily, the rings under her eyes looking even more pronounced as she rubbed her temples.
Wednesday shakes her head, as if trying to shake the very thought out of her head, and couldn’t seem to piece the words together to make one coherent sentence. She took a deep, shaky, breath, and pointed to the ground that was just a little way from us.
“T-t..the ground.”
“What about it?” I asked, confused. To me, it looked the same as all the ground around our feet, and Tabitha’s face didn’t obviously change if she had noticed what Wednesday had.
“Wednesday, this isn’t funny,” Tabitha snapped, her blonde hair flipping as she shook her head. Tabitha had a point, of course, and Wednesday’s sense of humour wasn’t always appreciated in serious conversations. This time, however, I knew she wasn’t joking. There was something in her green eyes that told me her heart was breaking, and I entwined my hand into hers.
“Tell us,” I said, more gently. Tabitha looked up at me with a guilty expression. Usually, she was the comforting one, and she had lost her cool. I saw her take a deep breath.
“It’s okay, Wednesday. What is it?”
“Just look.” Wednesday hissed, shooting a glare in my direction, and wrenching her hand out of mine. I tried not to look hurt, blinked back the hot tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks, and looked where Wednesday’s hand pointed. The ground looked uneven and muddier than the rest around it, but what did that prove?
Suddenly, Tabitha covered her mouth with her hand, and retched, her eyes streaming. “Is that..a hand?”
And then I see it, too, and wonder how Wednesday kept her cool so well. Three fingers poke from the earth, looking like they are just…reaching for life. It took all my strength not to be sick, and I turned my back on the mound of earth that now looks so obvious I wonder how we missed it.
I breathe out a shaky breath and Wednesday turns her back on it too. Part of me prays that it’s a sick joke, but the other part of me knows, just knows that it’s not, and that this is really happening.
We were stupid. I know that now. I was the first to do it. To walk away from the spot where she lay beneath the dirt and earth, and to walk home, without even a thought to what would happen if I told someone.
Yet I did. I waited until dinner, that night, too numb to even cry until then.
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